The Long Return
by IcyKali
Summary: Immortality is a punishment, even for the cruelest of cruel. Written for May's PPG Hub Drabble competition.


The richly-detailed, buzzing, black and white screens that used to flutter like butterflies around HIM's realm had been shut off long ago. Now, the only scenery that surrounded the mountain where he carved out an existence was a dark, velvety curtain, the soft rosy color of the inside of sleepy eyelids in morning.

_How long has it been this way? _HIM unenthusiastically contemplated which dress to wear. Even the joy of applying his cosmetics had been dulled by the steady stream of time. For years, HIM had never paid attention to the seconds, days, years passing him by. After all, he was an immortal demon whose powers fed on malicious intent, and malicious intent would never die... The black Gothic Lolita dress with the pink ruffles was too dark for his beautiful red complexion, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

HIM sighed. He ran a claw through his long silky hair and sat down in front of his vanity again. _Everything had been going so well... _All the old supervillain rogues were together again, and they were even almost having fun with their old roles. If Sedusa wasn't eager to show herself in her once-more bald state, or if Fuzzy decided to go on a long trip into the mountains to visit his extended family, what was the harm?Even the Rowdyruff Boys, his dear children, were maturing. Butch was using his tic-y Tourette's-reminiscent twitching for surprising battle strategies and Boomer was discovering a knack for musical abilities.

But then came Brick. He was perfect. Too perfect. HIM growled and crushed his Devious Viper lipstick in his claw, splattering offensive pigment on his pristine mirror as he remembered. Brick had showed an amazing lack of empathy for anybody and everybody. In the end, his own brothers were forced to ensnare him in that unspeakable place where HIM had been exiled from so many thousands of years ago: Hell.

After that debacle, every carefully manipulated puppet string snapped. Ace, in an out-of-character show of bravery, was nearly strangled by his own second-in-command. Due to her criminal record. Princess had lost all hope of attending an Ivy League school, and her father all but disowned her. Butch and Boomer had finally grown tired of their existence as mere flawed simulacra of their mortal enemies and had disappeared off of their fathers' radar entirely.

HIM frowned, a disgusting expression, and tried hopelessly to clean his mirror. His eyes narrowed as he fought to suppress the involuntary tightening in his chest at the thought of his estranged sons' first father. The last time HIM had talked to Mojo was under the dying neon signs outside the Boogie Man's Disco Club. It was after the nth night of fruitless evil scheming, and at the start, it seemed like the two of them would turn to the well-worn script of their usual dialogue.

He had put a claw on Mojo's shoulder patronizingly. "Maybe next time your big brain will kick into gear, Mojo darling," he'd said with obviously-feigned sympathy.

When Mojo hadn't whirled around and screamed at him, HIM realized something was seriously wrong. "Darling?"

Mojo weakly pushed away HIM's claw. He crossed his arms over his chest and didn't bother turning around. "I will not return to this club, which is falling apart and losing patrons. I have decided to vacate and move out of my observatory, my not-secret evil laboratory, and finish writing my memoirs."

HIM had rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. You write exactly the way you talk. Nobody's ever going to waste their time reading it." His voice dropped in pitch. "And what did I tell you about wanting to be appreciated? You are a villain."

Mojo finally turned to look at HIM, and adjusted his spectacles. Come to think of it, when had he started wearing those? HIM couldn't quite recall. They were cute, but also cold. "I see flashes of those infernal Powerpuff Girls' streaks of light in my peripheral vision. My hair is becoming gray, not its original color, which is not gray, but black, the shade it once was.

"It is long past time for me to retire, HIM. I have had a 'good run,' or perhaps in my case it would be a bad run, or even an evil run." Mojo grinned. "If you excuse me, I will now take my leave." He turned around again and started walking down the cracked sidewalk.

"How dare you just turn and walk away from evil!" HIM's teeth became sharp knives, his voice booming loud enough to shake the club's window glass. He raised his arm and prepared a blast of plasma. "Do you want to die pathetic and alone like Mastermind, you fool?"

Mojo had kept walking. "Your tulle has a pull in it."

HIM had looked down at the bottom of his hem, and by the time he realized he had been had, Mojo was gone from his life forever—not that it weighed heavily on his thoughts, or anything of the sort.

_Oh dear, have I set the vanity ablaze?_HIM sighed. "Who am I fooling?" he said in a mixture of his deep and feminine tones. He was alone. He never had and never could have friends, and the only villains he had ever respected had left him. He scowled. "It's unfair!" He threw his head back and screamed, to the rusty machinery of the heavens. "Those girls, those despicable golems! I can't kill them just by erasing a letter! How dare they keep living?" Without thinking, he swung his arms out, and a pink-tinted screen appeared in the air. It showed the Powerpuff Girls, dressed in all black, openly weeping. They stood in front of a grave adorned in colorful flowers, engraved with the epitaph: PROF. UTONIUM—LOVING FATHER AND BRILLIANT SCIENTIST.

HIM raised an eyebrow. He finally grinned as he always had, zooming in on Bubbles's tears. "Well, what do you know..." he crooned, voice sickly sweet. _Life goes on after all._


End file.
